schweblog

I have to stop myself sometimes and remember that we are merely human; we are not transcendant beings from another plane of existence, capable of capturing the perfection of life in our every action together. We have flaws and errors, problems and insecurities. But they make you so much more beautiful.

In making a concerted effort to not fall too hard, to be controlled and methodical and sensible with this entire affair, I find myslf wanting to go to you and look deep in your eyes and ask you if you understand. Do you understand? This is us, two people exposing their souls to each other and hoping the other one won’t reject them.

This is the eternal gamble, me and you teetering on the brink of something that could be epic. I’m not sure you understand the lightness you inflict upon me, the way I have to hold onto something, anything, to remind myself that all of this–and you, in particular–is real. I do not know–and may never know–if you understand all of this. I cannot ask you for fear of losing it all, but I’m not sure how much longer I can pretend that this is not affecting me. This is why you are dangerous.